


June 2016

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [8]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Consort Dean Winchester, Demonic Possession, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 11,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 ficlets for the month of June.





	1. One-Hundred Fifty-Three: Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he’s liquid sunshine and flower fields,  
> something from a fairy tale  
> that ends with the hero slaying the dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boyking!Sam and consort!Dean. Maybe some implied dubcon depending on how you read it.

he’s liquid sunshine and flower fields,  
something from a fairy tale  
that ends with the hero slaying the dragon.

you are molten stardust,   
something darker and quieter and not entirely yours-  
it tastes more like iron and sulphur.

cinnamon-dusted skin and he’s the only one   
who doesn’t flinch at your touch-

(he hasn’t for a long time.)

he doesn’t belong here- not in this world  
of hellfire and brimstone  
with the stench of death trying to cling to his hair-

(you’re sure you still catch the hint of summer there, sometimes)

-and the jade in his eyes glassy and dulled  
turned to something of an echo-  
a song whose words you used to know.

your big brother looks pretty in red,  
(crimson flecks that are too stark against pale skin)  
and he was always fit to wear a collar.

(just as long as you’re the one holding the leash.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. One-Hundred Fifty-Four: Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is her brother’s finest creation, and Dean will be the one she takes as her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small Demara thing.

Dean is her brother’s finest creation, and Dean will be the one she takes as her own.

Amara had no name for the feeling it gives her to think of God’s betrayal, though it’s easy to associate it with the smaller human experiences she has grown to recognize.  _Jealousy_  is an ugly word, but she covets her brother’s attention and can only wish it was still entirely hers. It’s all she can do to take something for herself, too- something he cares about; something he has deemed more worthy of his love.

It just so happens that Dean is the first upon which she lays her eyes. As she touches his mind, breathes his tiny thoughts as though they are her own, she comes to discover their similarities- the importance they place on their family. Their loyalty, their anger.

(Eventually, their willingness to forgive.)

She doesn’t mean to get attached to Dean, but for every moment they spend together and every effort he makes to resist her, she can only grip tighter.

He may her her brother’s Creation, but he will be hers in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. One-Hundred Fifty-Five: My Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Samuel, darling? Be a dear and fetch me another drink, would you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... a very silly thing.

“Samuel, darling? Be a dear and fetch me another drink, would you?”

It’s not even that Rowena’s finished the one she’s sipping already. The little umbrella in her daiquiri still floats and twirls in a half-full glass, but then, it’s not so much the drink she’s concerned with right now.

Sam sets her bare foot down like it’s made of glass, pressing one delicate kiss to the front of her ankle before he stands. His eyes are glazed in that under-a-love-spell way, but the rest of him- the glorious, oiled, bare rest of him- more than makes up for the little breach in illusion. She’s had him cover up the good bits for an illusion of decency, but the dirt-coloured loincloth doesn’t leave much to the imagination. He mumbles something that sounds like “yes, my queen,” as he stands, and her smile only grows.

She makes no secret of her staring, leaning back in the throne she’s set up for herself- certainly more magnificent than the one her son uses in Hell, which is really the only important part- and watching the shift of muscles as Sam moves. Certainly an impressive specimen, and though this little trick will likely be short-lived, she intends to enjoy it while it last.

And oh, is she  _enjoying_ it.

Sam kneels again when he returns, bows his head when he offers her the new glass, and Rowena brings a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. He’s taken so well to the servitude, and it’s easy to pretend that she hasn’t done any tampering at all. “Thank you, dearie,” she manages after a moment, and reaches out to pluck it from his hands. “You can return to your chores, now.”

Sam’s chores mostly consist of rubbing Rowena’s feet, for now- being centuries old and wearing the shoes she does, they get sore too often- but it’s nice to watch him focus so intently on the task, all the same. Big hands, but he’s good with them, fingertips pressing into all the right spots and helping her relax once more while she sinks down into the cushions a little more.

Definitely worth whatever consequences she’ll meet. There’s something very satisfying about living in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. One-Hundred Fifty-Six: Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All alone and lonely today, aren’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for... non-consensual possession?

Abaddon doesn’t consider herself a particularly patient being, but were she given the time, she’s sure she could spend hours,  _days_ taking this little human apart from the inside out. There’s something about his spirit, the fire that burns hot in his chest where his soul sits that draws her in and gives her the urge to corrupt and lay claim. And now, for once- maybe she’s god something of a chance.

“All alone and lonely today, aren’t we?”

Dean’s always been prettiest on his knees. She doesn’t often get to see him like this- all the pesky warding and his tendency to try to kill her on sight makes their relationship a little tricky- but it’s worth the wait every single time to be able to drink in this sight. She takes the time to enjoy it now; tightens her fingers in his short hair and relishes in the little grunt he breathes out. “It almost seems like you aren’t excited to see me. You could hurt a girl’s feelings like that, Dean.”

“Go to Hell, you bitch,” he snaps at her, jerks in her hold a little. Abaddon just laughs, trails manicured fingertips over the curve of his cheek. He’s got freckles, and it’s sort of cute. 

“You know, I’ve been. Much prefer it up here.” She tilts her head to indicate the world around them. “Not nearly as humid. Way I hear it, you had a little stint downstairs, too, hm?”

He stiffens at that and she doesn’t hide her smile. Demons are notorious for their loose lips and Dean Winchester happens to be one of their favourite subjects. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about you and your brother. The apocalypse, the demon deals, Purgatory. Every single dirty detail.”

There’s one she doesn’t mention yet, because the thought of it burns tight and hot somewhere deep in her corrupted grace. It’s something she identifies loosely as  _jealousy_ , with the thought of some pompous winged asshole setting his sights on Dean’s body as his vessel. Destiny or no, she can’t stand the image, and as her hand slides down his cheek to grip his jaw, she can only be thankful it hadn’t gone through. Slipping into a body that’s been touched by an angel burns more than she cares to admit.

“And you know what?” Lowering her voice, she leans in closer. Watches the way Dean tries to struggle against her hold as she moves one hand down, fingertips slipping past the collar of his shirt until they’re pressed against the pesky little sigil painted on his chest. “I still want you, anyways.”

Dean tries to stifle himself as she burns through the tattoo, but the tears in his eyes are clear as day. It’s easy to feel the moment the warding magic is no longer in effect, and she’s hit with the radiance of Dean’s soul all at once- a wall of energy, something startlingly pure that it’s impossible to tear her eyes from.

Abaddon doesn’t waste any time after that as she forces Dean’s mouth open and gathers up her being.

It’s almost odd to leave Josie’s body behind after riding it for so long, but she can’t bring herself to miss the thing worth a damn once she slips inside Dean. There’s a scrap of resistance but there’s not a thing he can do about her presence, especially not once she’s wrapped herself around his soul, locked him inside his own head and focused all her energy into marking him as hers.

She opens their eyes a moment later, allowing them to smooth back into green from the solid black as they stand. Josie’s body is splayed out on the dirt wearing a wicked grin, and Abaddon smiles to match it as she stretches Dean’s body to its full height.

This is going to be  _fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. One-Hundred Fifty-Eight: Sunscreen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Told you skin protection was important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers being dumb.
> 
> Day 157 was posted separately as "Mother's Milk", and you can find it [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116616). Mind the warnings.

“Told you skin protection was important.”

“Well fuck you, too.”

Sam’s smile just grows as he inspects the lobster-red of Dean’s shoulders and back, tracing his fingertips along the outlines his brother’s tank top has left him with. Dean wriggles underneath him and grumbles something incoherent.

“You’re not peeling yet.” Sam takes a little mercy on him and smears some aloe onto his hands, starting to spread it sticky and cool over the overheated skin. “So I still think you’re attractive for now, but your time is limited. Better make the most of it.”

Dean huffs at him again, turns his head to glare at Sam with one eye. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Sam grins, thinking about how much softer his brother gets when he’s hurt. Maybe it’s a little selfish and a little sadistic, but there’s something fun about getting to take care of his brother for once instead of being the one who’s always coddled. “Maybe.”

He’s got a couple days of whining and pampering to look forward to, so he figures it’s just a matter of making the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. One-Hundred Fifty-Nine: Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know,” Chuck says, and it’s not until Dean snaps his head up to figure out where it’s directed that he realizes they’re suddenly, startlingly alone, “I’ve always had faith in you, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thing. Um. Yes.

“You know,” Chuck says, and it’s not until Dean snaps his head up to figure out where it’s directed that he realizes they’re suddenly, startlingly alone, “I’ve always had faith in you, Dean.”

It’s nothing he hasn’t been told before, but the words still ring hollow in his chest. He looks down again, back to the laptop where he’s supposed to be looking for signs of Amara, but the text blurs on the screen and he can’t make himself focus again with the heaviness in the air. He doesn’t move his eyes again, but ends up responding all the same, albeit quietly. “Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“Sure, I said it, but I don’t think you heard me.” And fuck, but Dean should be used to this shit by now after spending so much time with Castiel, but when Chuck moves across the room to his side between one blink and the next, he curses, needs a moment to gather himself into something resembling normalcy. “And I don’t know why you’re not believing me. It’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it?”

“Which part?” Dean keeps his eyes on his screen because Chuck’s already too close. Maybe it’s just the knowledge that it’s God Himself, or maybe there was some kind of aura containing his presence before, but there’s a distinct energy that emanates from his entire being. Either way, it’s hard to deal with right now, and he figures it always will be. “The one where you left us to fend for ourselves our whole lives? The Apocalypse, the angels falling-”  _Mom? Dad? Losing Sam?_ There are a thousand little sufferings, and Dean figures he could fill a book if he tried. “-all of it. How is that… you left. You didn’t  _care._ ”

He hears a sigh, but the last thing he expects is for Chuck to move closer still- for a hand to land on his shoulder, heavier than it should be and comforting in a way it definitely shouldn’t feel. “I wasn’t there  _because_ of my faith. The world is- the world’s always had a way of fumbling through its own messes.”

Dean finally looks up, then, and it’s a little unnerving to look Chuck in the eye. Once he’s there, though, he can’t turn away, and doesn’t bother to try. When he continues, it’s a little softer, almost tender. “It’s one of the best parts of humanity. You’re so… self-sufficient. Most of you- it’s just the idea of my existence that gives you enough to go on. That’s not me; that’s you helping yourselves and each other. Can’t you see the good in that?”

And Dean doesn’t know how to respond. Feels like all the words have dried up on his tongue, because the look Chuck’s wearing is too familiar and one he doesn’t want to analyze past the warm feeling of accomplishment it sets in his chest. He swallows hard, fingers curling gently around the arms of his chair. “They need you,” is what he says instead, just soft. “They- there’s so much bad in the world, and you-”

“Would never do anything about it.” He looks almost sad, then, for a moment, but it passes quickly. “Dean, the point of free will is that I’m not around to micromanage everything that happens. Someone makes a mistake, and they deal with the consequences. Sometimes that’s a good thing, and- well, and sometimes a whole lot of people make a whole lot of mistakes and bad things happen, but it’s just a part of the experience. It’s a part of being human.” Another smile, and he squeezes Dean’s shoulder. “Besides, as long as you and Sam are around, how much can really go wrong?”

Dean’s pretty sure a whole lot has gone wrong since they tumbled into the world, but instead of saying that, he just looks away while Chuck’s hand slips off his shoulder. He hears the footsteps a moment later, and Sam’s entering the room, looking like he’s half-asleep but ready to jump into the work, as usual. By the time “get this” has formed on his lips, Chuck is back to working through a box of cookies on the other end of the table, and Dean’s left with an oddly empty feeling and a hell of a lot of questions.

They always did tell him that God worked in mysterious ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. One-Hundred Sixty: Mismatched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn’t matter that this Dean is an adult, all grown up, filled out and stretched out and completely at ease behind the wheel of his car or the barrel of his shotgun. It doesn’t matter that he’s Daddy’s good little soldier, a swagger to his step and a grin laced with boyish charm and wicked promises. Nothing matters, really, not the jagged edges or smooth corners or the issues he hides behind pretty green eyes.
> 
> What matters right now is the way he keens; the way his little-big brother falls to pieces under his hands. Dean is soft everywhere Sam remembers sharp edges, and it’s intoxicating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulless!Sam and a younger Dean and. Smut.

It doesn’t matter that this Dean is an adult, all grown up, filled out and stretched out and completely at ease behind the wheel of his car or the barrel of his shotgun. It doesn’t matter that he’s Daddy’s good little soldier, a swagger to his step and a grin laced with boyish charm and wicked promises. Nothing matters, really, not the jagged edges or smooth corners or the issues he hides behind pretty green eyes.

What matters right now is the way he  _keens;_  the way his little-big brother falls to pieces under his hands. Dean is soft everywhere Sam remembers sharp edges, and it’s intoxicating.

Dean sits in the hollow spot in his chest; the place where Sam knows  _something_ should be- something important, he’s sure, but something he’s missing, all the same- and it isn’t quite right, but it’s  _enough_ , and even in this other time, this mismatched place where he doesn’t truly belong, there’s something inexplicably comforting about having found his brother.

The part where he’s fucking said brother senseless is entirely a coincidence, and probably not necessary to feeling whole.

“Fucking- shit, Sam!” And if Dean’s noticed there’s something wrong with him, besides apparently being seven or eight years older than he’s supposed to be, then he’s yet to point it out. “That- fuck, right there!”

He’s got Dean up against the wall, muscles straining as he supports his brother’s weight, Dean’s legs tight around his middle and arms in a chokehold around his neck. Not the first time they’ve fucked since he’s arrived here, and it won’t be the last, if he’s got any say in it- and knowing Dean, little bitch of a submissive that he is, Sam will have the  _only_ say in it- but it’s the first time they’ve done it here.

Dean’s skin’s already bruising, pretty blossoms of purple and red where Sam’s hands and teeth leave their marks, but he ducks in to suck another one into the delicate column of his neck, intent on broadcasting that this boy is  _his._ No one’s allowed to have their hands on Dean like this, timelines be damned, and the throaty sounds he makes under Sam’s mouth are just another bonus. Sam knows this won’t last much longer; this Dean doesn’t have much stamina to speak of (or maybe he’s just not used to the feeling of being pounded like this). Sam keeps his mouth right where it is for the taste of Dean’s jackhammer heartbeat racing towards climax, and one more rough thrust sends him there with a breathless cry, and  _fuck,_ but he’s tight.

Sam growls and thrusts up and milks his own orgasm out of the clenching of Dean’s ass, pays no mind to the mess spilled between them as he chases his own pleasure. It’s a haze of need and everything else blurs to the background, leaves Sam animalistic and needy as he clings to the most important person in his black-and-grey world. Dean is warm and alive and  _real_ , and whatever the sex does for him, he’s pretty sure the proximity does him more.

“Jesus, you’re good at that,” Dean mumbles somewhere against Sam’s shoulder, and it occurs to Sam to finally set him down. He’s shaky on his legs but manages, stands up straight and hides his wince behind bravado and an image he needs to protect. It’s so  _Dean_ it hurts to watch, knowing what becomes of his brother in the future. “You, uh… I’m gonna grab a shower. You… do whatever you want, I guess.”

It’s not hard to decide that Sam wants to hop right in the shower with him. Be it lust or a sense of being touch-starved or possessiveness that stretches past anything resembling healthy, there’s nothing he wants more than to be close to his brother. This situation might be messy, and Dean’s bound to ask more questions sooner or later, but for the time being, Sam’s free to drink his fill and take everything that this time has to offer him.

(Mostly, it just offers him a softer, younger Dean. He isn’t opposed.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. One-Hundred Sixty-One: Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Sam has a dream about Gadreel, he thinks it must be a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Sadreel.

The first time Sam has a dream about Gadreel, he thinks it must be a nightmare.

Angels have caused nothing but pain and chaos in his life, and though he’s used to seeing them in human form, there’s no mistaking the near-blinding light that emits from nothing in particular as he floats through non-reality. Sam’s first reaction is fear, to curl in on his own non-corporeal being- another bit of dream logic he doesn’t question- to keep himself safe.

The light stays at a distance, and Sam wakes up with vague memories of looking up into the sun.

He doesn’t tell Dean. There’s still a wide rift between him and his brother, a sense of shattered trust and unspoken words he doesn’t yet have the energy to try to repair. Not even when the dreams continue, and not when they become more vivid.

Sam isn’t sure how he knows the angel by his presence alone. Perhaps during their time sharing a body, he grew to know the creature at a deep, unconscious level, the way a child knows its mother or a bit of prey knows its predators, and the thought is as unsettling as it is familiar. So the dreams become more, and he simply chooses to watch.

Never does Gadreel assume human form. This, Sam always thinks, is how he knew the angel- a part of himself, in a way, a being of light and power with no physical form to call his own. It feels right that his appearances in Sam’s mind are just as formless, comprised mostly of colours and feelings and nothing Sam can touch. 

It doesn’t stop the sensations from growing stronger, though. Gentle and tentative, warmth that curls around Sam’s soul and tries to stitch all the little fractures back together. It’s a healing light and it’s a comfort with all the familiarity of something experienced before, and Sam doesn’t try to resist. There’s no way for him to qualify the mess his reality has become, between Heaven and Hell and everything that stands in between- but in these little moments of escape that come when he closes his eyes, he can relax and let go and try to heal.

Maybe it’s easier to think that Gadreel wanted to help. Maybe it’s simple this way, to be quiet and let someone take care of him, whether or not it’s rooted in reality and truth. Maybe it’s easy to pretend.

(Maybe he wakes up a little more refreshed every night, a little more whole. Maybe he tries to forget that angels can visit dreams, and maybe he convinces himself that Gadreel wouldn’t want anything to do with him now, anyways.

Maybe ignorance can be bliss, and maybe Sam wants to hold onto this a while longer.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. One-Hundred Sixty-Two: Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he steals one of Sam’s drinks, his brother is most definitely not looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly brothers. Dean should just give in and drink a fancy coffee, already.

Dean takes his coffee black because it’s the way his dad has taken it for as long as he can remember. He’s got some hazy recollections of home, his mom preparing coffee in the morning and being a little more generous with the creamer and sugar, but it feels like one of those things he shouldn’t touch for fear of tainting. Black coffee is too strong and too bitter and Dean mostly drinks it for the caffeine boost and the heat, but it’s a routine all the same.

The first time he steals one of Sam’s drinks, his brother is most definitely not looking.

It’s not that he wants anything to do with the half-caf, extra whip, pump-of-caramel frou-frou bullshit that Sam’s drinking. It’s just that- well, he’s thirsty, and Sam’s fallen asleep in the passenger seat, and maybe the cinnamon he’s had dusted over the whipped cream looks kind of nice.

All things considered, it’s a goddamn miracle that Sam doesn’t wake up at the sound of Dean’s pleasantly surprised moan.

So he starts sneaking some sips now and then. What can he say- he’s got one hell of a sweet tooth, and packing that together with his ever-growing caffeine addiction seems like something he should’ve started doing years ago. Not that he can order these drinks himself- he’s spent too damn long poking fun at Sam for drinking them, so it becomes a covert affair between himself and his little brother’s fancy coffee.

But, well-

“You know,” Sam says mildly one day while Dean’s leaning over to steal some of his whipped cream, and Dean startles so badly he nearly upends the whole cup. Would’ve been a damn shame. “I bet you’d like the chocolate powder even better.”

Sam has never been very conductive to Dean’s sneaky plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. One-Hundred Sixty-Three: Egg Shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess smiles, but Sam can see how strained it is. The two of them are on the couch together while Dean sits on the edge of the chair across from them, a set to his shoulders that tells Sam he’s ready to bolt at the drop of a pin. He hadn’t missed his brother scouting out exits on his way in, either- Dean’s in flight mode, and Sam hates that this has put him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is still very much in love with Sam, and Sam has very much moved on.

“So, um… you’re a-?”

“Pest control worker.” Dean smiles like he used to talking to civilians, and Sam realizes with a vaguely sick feeling that it’s exactly what this is to him now. “I travel around, deal with- well, uh, pests. All sorts.”

Jess smiles, but Sam can see how strained it is. The two of them are on the couch together while Dean sits on the edge of the chair across from them, a set to his shoulders that tells Sam he’s ready to bolt at the drop of a pin. He hadn’t missed his brother scouting out exits on his way in, either- Dean’s in flight mode, and Sam hates that this has put him there.

“That’s- that’s nice.” Jess shifts a little beside him, squeezes Sam’s hand, and he realizes she’s looking for his support, here. All excited to meet his big brother and it’s not working; no one is happy and the tension in the air is palpable. “Helping people, I mean. Must be nice.”

“Sure is.” Sam can’t help but wonder if Dean’s cheeks hurt with the look on his face. He glances towards the door for probably the eighth time in the last minute, and Sam braces himself for what he knows is coming. “Hey, um- I hate to cut out early, but there’s this thing-”

“Right, yeah.” Sam does step in that time, tries to save his girlfriend from a little of the awkwardness. “You- you’re busy. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean doesn’t look like he’ll be worrying about this ever again once he’s out the door, and Sam tries not to let that thought hurt as much as it does. His brother stands, offers a little half-hearted wave. “I’ll see you, Sam. Uh- Jessica.”

Neither of them really have time to say goodbye before Dean’s hurrying out, leaving nothing but the rapidly-fading scent of leather and a too-heavy, stifling air about the room. Sam swallows hard and looks down at his feet, wondering if it’s the years apart or their past relationship or the fact that he’s moved on that’s ruined things between them.

Maybe a little bit of everything.

“You okay?” Jess asks quietly, squeezing his hand, and Sam doesn’t know how to respond.

So instead of worrying about that, he takes a page out of Dean’s book and pastes a smile on his face.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Maybe if he keeps pretending, it’ll start to become true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. One-Hundred Sixty-Four: Heartless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird, venty thing that didn't really turn out the way I wanted it to, so... um.

Sometimes, Dean thinks that he was just born wrong.

His brother has always been bursting with love. Sammy loves love, and he loves  _to_ love, always happy to tell Dean in all sorts of gooey detail exactly how he feels about him. 

Dean- well, Dean  _doesn’t._

It doesn’t feel like he’s missing anything until those little moments when he’s supposed to feel something. The moments when Sammy looks up at him with big eyes and a shy smile and says “love you, De,” and Dean can only bring himself to respond with a smile and a hug.

Those parts are easy. Affection is something he knows how to do- how to express how important Sam is by  _showing_ him. The telling, though, is where he falls short, and the feelings don’t quite… feel.

It’s easier to just pretend that they exist. To paste a smile on his face and press a kiss to Sammy’s forehead and act like there’s not a void inside him, a something  _missing_ where there should, apparently, be something  _there._ It doesn’t occur to him to question it until other people bring those feelings into the open, because he feels whole. He feels like a real person, with all the bits and pieces he needs, but the world around him has a way of letting him know that he’s just lying to himself.

 _Heartless_  is what they call him, sometimes. The girls who are happy to spend the night in his bed, but get hurt when they realize he lacks the capacity for more. He tries to explain it, sometimes, but mostly it just makes the situation worse because suddenly, it’s like they’ve slept with an unfeeling automaton, wasted their time on someone who couldn’t love them if he tried.

Dean feels whole, most of the time. It’s just other people who tell him different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. One-Hundred Sixty-Five: Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not until Cassie that Dean realizes something is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took another stab at aro!Dean, but I'm still not very happy with it.

It’s not until Cassie that Dean realizes something is missing.

Maybe it’s because Sam’s gone, now, but Dean’s life feels distinctly lacking. Sam used to fill every void for him, fulfil every need, play every role- things were easy like that. He didn’t need to think too hard about labelling their relationship; Sam’s his brother, and though  _brother_ doesn’t really quite encompass everything they are to one another, it’s enough. Dean doesn’t have a need to label and categorize his feelings for Sam, simply because they  _are._

Cassie is when things get complicated, because Cassie is-

Well, that’s just the problem.

She’s a friend, first. The  _with benefits_ comes later, but- but they’re  _exclusive._ Cassie doesn’t see other people, and Dean feels a tug of loyalty that says he shouldn’t either, but…

The first time she calls him her boyfriend, he’s at a loss.

He doesn’t know how to do romance. He’s never really had the chance before, and hell, maybe that’s their downfall. Too much bickering, not enough communication- topped off with the big reveal that Dean hunts monsters for a living, maybe they were doomed to fail from the start.

Cassie doesn’t last, but the impact she has on him lingers even when Dean picks his brother up from Stanford, because suddenly nothing is easy. Not in the wake of Jessica, not while they’re fumbling through finding that place once more.

“What are we?” Dean asks one day, out of the blue on some empty stretch of highway. Sam looks as surprised to hear the question as Dean feels about asking it, so he clears his throat a little, tries to elaborate. “I mean, uh. What were we? Before?”

It’s the best way he knows how to ask, because  _“tell me how you feel about me in as much detail as possible”_  is a little too invasive to slip under the radar, especially with how stilted things have been recently. Sam doesn’t question him, just turns to watch out the windshield, lips pursed in thought.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually, and it’s almost a relief. “Always figured we were just- us.”

They don’t talk about the things they used to do. The things they might start doing again, if the hungry looks and lingering touches are of any indication. Things might go back to just the way they were before, where the lines were blurred enough for Dean to be happy and everything just made sense.

It’s easy with Sam. Romance doesn’t become a factor, because romance isn’t  _them._

Sam’s always made the most sense to him, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. One-Hundred Sixty-Six: Swans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sammy is eight years old, he falls in love with swans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swans mate for life and it makes me sad.

When Sammy is eight years old, he falls in love with swans.

Dean figures it’s just ‘cause they’re pretty. It’s not that he doesn’t agree- they’re awful nice-looking, for giant water birds- but he doesn’t really know what’s got his little brother so fixated on them. Lots of animals look nice, but Sammy- Sammy’s got his sights fixed on swans, holds Dean’s hand tight and tugs whenever they see them at a park or down by some lake.

“Dean! Dean, they’re swimmin’!” he’ll say, all sorts of excitement in his squeaky little voice, and Dean will smile and nod because Sammy’s happy and that’s the important part. He doesn’t get it, but it’s kinda peaceful to just sit down by the water and watch them glide along its surface, just occasionally dipping their beaks down for a drink.

“You know,” Sammy tells him one day, a hushed whisper like he’s sharing a secret while they watch a pair of swans huddle together near the other end of a pond, “swans get married like people do.”

“Huh?” Dean furrows his brow and squints at the birds and tries to make sense of that. “No, they don’t.”

“They do, too!” Sammy nods seriously, gives Dean’s hand a little shake where he’s got it held firmly between both of his. “My teacher told me so. They find another swan they love and stay together forever.” He gets a little quieter, then, and when Dean glances down to see what’s happened, he looks sort of sad. “She said they get real sad if they get separated. Some of ‘em die without their- their husband or wife.”

“Spouse,” Dean says absently, and his eyes drift back to the swans. They dip their heads down together, beaks brushing, forming a heart between the graceful curves of their necks. He wonders if that’s how nature wanted it to be.

Swans mate for life, and Dean still doesn’t really get it. It’s one thing to love each other, but it’s another entirely to just- to just  _die_ if they lose their partner. It seems extreme to him, but he files that away for his own consideration because Sammy’s just little, and Sammy loves swans, and Sammy thinks it’s real romantic that they love each other so much that they don’t know how to live outside of it.

Dean doesn’t get it until Cold Oak, when his baby brother’s slumped down in his arms, head lolling forward like some twisted parody of one of the mated swans. Dean grips his jacket and touches his face and screams himself hoarse, but there’s too much blood and Sammy hasn’t been breathing for a short eternity, and suddenly it just makes sense.

Dean looks at his little brother, his other half, his partner and his soulmate in every sense of the word, and he thinks about how Sammy’s heart is no longer beating, and he thinks that maybe he finally understands those swans. He thinks that he’s ready to lay down and die along with his brother, because he doesn’t have much of a life worth living without the only person who’s ever really mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. One-Hundred Sixty-Seven: Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amara makes it easy to be good, and Dean has always been eager to please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demara thing. Vaguely D/S but in a non-sexual way?

Amara makes it easy to be good, and Dean has always been eager to please.

Maybe it’s the bond they share in the aftermath of the Mark, but she has this way of knowing his limits and his needs before he even thinks to express them. Probably a good thing, too, since expression isn’t something he’s ever been very good at. Her fingers will card through his hair and she’ll hum, sometimes, and he’ll settle at her side, on his knees, eyes closed and head down, and he’ll feel  _good._

Sometimes, he thinks that all he needs is to be here, like this. To stay at Amara’s side and do as she asks and try to make her happy. She tells him that he does, oftentimes- smiles and cups his cheek and tells him in soft tones how good he is, how he was made perfect and how he’s everything he needs to be- but he still tries, sits up straight when he’s told and gives her everything she could possibly want and letting her set her rules where they need to exist.

She doesn’t love the same way humans do, and she doesn’t have the same sorts of needs- they’ve talked about sex before, and it seems that she sees it mostly as a curiosity to be explored and a way to take care of Dean’s needs, more than anything else- but she  _does_ need things. Needs validation, needs support. Needs to know she’s taking care of Dean the way she needs to, and Dean’s more than happy to reassure her of the fact whenever the opportunity arises. He’ll happily curl up at her side, wrap her in his arms when she wants to be held, kiss whatever he can reach and tell her she’s done a good job. That she’s exactly who he needs her to be.

Neither of them are any good at relationships, really, and neither of them really  _have_ people- but now, they have this, and they have each other, and when Dean goes to bed at night with Amara’s fingers in her hair and sound of her voice and the promise that he’ll be protected for all of his eternity, he thinks that he doesn’t need anything or anyone else.

They have each other, and that’s all he needs to fall asleep peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. One-Hundred Sixty-Eight: Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Away from Earth, it seems that Amara has nothing but time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small thing with Chuck and aro!Amara.

Away from Earth, it seems that Amara has nothing but time.

Well, time and her brother. God- Chuck, as he sometimes asks her to call him- is here, finally, within her reach, and it feels like there finally starting to mend all the hurt they’ve caused one another in the past. He creates, and she does not interfere. Even tries to join in, sometimes- she’s getting better, but it still baffles her how he could have spun together such a wondrous thing as the world. As mankind; as people like Dean.

But then, that seems to be where the problem lies. Analyzing her own feelings is not a specialty of hers, but more than anything, Amara wants to understand.

Though it’s become obvious that Dean had been right about her wanting her brother at her side once more, she still struggles with the proposition that she’d been using Dean to replace him. She may be new to humanity, but it seems plainly obvious that her feelings for Dean exist in a fundamentally different way than those she has for God.

“Maybe you like him,” he suggests when she brings it up. He’s trying to turn her towards trying some of his favourite foods, though she remains reluctant to eat anything out of a tiny white box of unknown origin.  _You used to eat demons,_  he’d said in exasperation.  _Trust me, anything tastes better than sulphur._  “You two have a connection, right? Even without the Mark.”

He’s right, and Amara looks away as she runs her fingertips over its raised surface.  _Love_  is still a foreign concept to her- the affection she’d expressed for Dean came from a place of wanting to be closer to him, to win his trust, but romance…

She doesn’t understand.

“Talk to him,” her brother tells her. “Just- c'mon, I know he’s not great at it, but just go to the guy and ask him about it. He’ll probably be more help than I am. I’ll be here.”

So she nods and exhales and closes her eyes. Better to visit Earth than to stew about in confusion for eternity.

She’d been meaning to visit Dean, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. One-Hundred Sixty-Nine: Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes back from Hell irrefutably _different_ , but he’s still Sam’s big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark and Wincest and loosely serial-killer-esque.

Dean comes back from Hell irrefutably  _different_ , but he’s still Sam’s big brother.

He still teaches Sam things, guides his hands when he’s cutting, shows him just where to twist his wrist to get the loudest screams. A constant low murmur in his ear, a  _good job, baby boy_ or  _let me show you how they did it downstairs._

Sam still watches him with big, trusting eyes, head over heels for the most important person in his world. He basks in Dean’s praise and seeks his approval, goes above and beyond to make sure he’s doing right by his brother.

Sam’s demon blood addiction changes  _something_ in him, but Dean will still do anything to make him happy.

It’s no burden to open up a vein on some hellspawn so his brother can drink. No one gets hurt, really- no one really matters enough to hurt outside the two of them- and the way Sam’s eyes light up make the cleanup worth it.

Dean still submits to his little brother like always, lets Sam have anything he wants, whatever he asks for. When that ends up with the pair of them tumbling into bed- well, it’s no hardship on Dean to ride his brother’s cock while Sam paints bruises and blood into his skin.

They’re different, now, darker, sharper- predators in a world of prey. They both remember demons who cower to hear their names, and as they continue their blood-soaked paths, they breed more respect. More  _fear._

They might be different, but they’re still  _them_ , and as long as they have each other- well, not a whole lot else seems to matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. One-Hundred Seventy-Two: Raindrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rain has a curious way of stretching out the last light of the day, fragmenting shades of red and gold that try to peek past grey skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was experimenting with focusing more on the scenery of a piece than the character stuff I tend to lean on more heavily. So... aesthetic + brothers.
> 
> Parts 170 and 171 were uploaded separately as "[Sorting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242730)" and "[Corridor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251454)". Both are part of a Harry Potter AU thing with age swapped Sam and Dean and... eventual Destiel? They're both included in this series.

The rain has a curious way of stretching out the last light of the day, fragmenting shades of red and gold that try to peek past grey skies. The windshield wipers paint streaks of sunset-tinted water with their lazy movements, a constant back-and-forth that’s hypnotizing in its regularity. The water tries to continue its path down the windshield’s surface as the wipers move away, only to inevitably be pushed aside again as they make their return, a ceaseless, comforting pattern to match the gentle pattering of each raindrop meeting the roof of the car.

The road has been empty for miles and Dean is finally trying to sleep. Sam keeps one eye on his brother after he drives, a position he’d fought for across some fifty miles of asphalt before Dean surrendered. It’d been a relief; it’s always worrying to see the way his eyelids start to hang heavy when he’s at the wheel, and he’s a little too possessive of the driver’s seat for his own good.

The effort is certainly worth it, though. Dean’s on his way out, resting against the passenger-side door, arms crossed over his chest. Eyes closed and lips gently parted, head settled against the window as they slip past miles of sparse forest that turns into wide, open pastures- not a soul in sight, the way it always is between pockets of civilization. 

The peacefulness of it all has Sam’s eyes drifting from the road more than once just to look at his brother properly- to drink in the admittedly rare sight of Dean completely at ease. He thinks there’s something about the Impala, whether it be her warm, familiar purr, or perhaps the fact that many of their formative years were spent curled up together in her back seat, that helps Dean relax in a way that he can’t on solid ground. Whatever the reason, there’s an element of tranquility here that Sam never feels anywhere else, and the tiny, fond smile on his face is unconscious and unavoidable.

Dean looks good in the muted hues of sunset, highlighting the gold in his hair and the cinnamon-spot freckles dusted across his cheeks, fainter now in the months of autumn as summer fades into a memory. He looks soft and warm, ethereal in his beauty and gentle in the way his chest rises and falls. Human. Real.

The sun slips down past the horizon, taking with it the warmer colours of daytime. As the sky shifts towards purple-blue and Sam’s eyes drift forwards once more to focus on the road, he thinks about Dean’s sleepy insistence that he be woken up within a couple hours. Doesn’t trust Sam’s competency in driving, or perhaps doesn’t want to miss too much of this little window of life they’ve been granted. He’s properly asleep now, breathing soft through parted lips, face clear of lines and fingers curled gently in his own shirt sleeves. He looks young, content. At peace.

Safe.

Sam rubs the pad of his thumb over the worn leather of the steering wheel. He can make it another few miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. One-Hundred Seventy-Four: Photoshoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C'mon, look alive.” Jared grins and reaches up, fingers finding a wayward hair on Jensen’s head and trying to fix it before his hand are swatted away. “Gotta be pretty for this one, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember which photoshoot this was about, just that J2 were exchanging some very intense looks in the final products.

“C'mon, look alive.” Jared grins and reaches up, fingers finding a wayward hair on Jensen’s head and trying to fix it before his hand are swatted away. “Gotta be pretty for this one, right?”

They’re all set to go in front of the camera, Misha off getting some finishing touches in hair and makeup while they wait. The photography crew bustles around while the shoot director talks to a couple other workers, everything busy outside of the little bubble they’ve made for themselves.

“You’re always pretty.” Jensen rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, glances down as he straightens his jacket. They’ve been dressed to match, not that it’s a novelty these days. “Am I good?”

‘Good,’ Jared thinks as he gives his costar a once-over, is something of an understatement. Between the suit jacket, the freshly-styled hair, and everything Jensen’s got going on every single day of his life- well.

“I don’t know how long I can look at you without needing to do something about all those clothes you’ve got on.”

A surprised laugh, and Jared gives him a wink to top it off. “You’re good. Trust me.”

He slides in close to steal a couple more seconds; ducks his head until his nose brushes against Jensen’s cheek while their hands find each other. The gentle scratch of Jensen’s beard has him letting out a pleased hum. “Maybe Dean should grow a beard.”

“We’ll see.”

Jensen squeezes his hands once more before they part as Misha returns and they get right to business. As promised, Jared can’t keep his eyes off of Jensen- or his hands, for that matter- and he’s sure it’ll come through in the final product.

Oh, well. A couple heated glances never hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. One-Hundred Seventy-Four: Photoshoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C'mon, look alive.” Jared grins and reaches up, fingers finding a wayward hair on Jensen’s head and trying to fix it before his hand are swatted away. “Gotta be pretty for this one, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember which photoshoot this was about, just that J2 were exchanging some very intense looks in the final products.

“C'mon, look alive.” Jared grins and reaches up, fingers finding a wayward hair on Jensen’s head and trying to fix it before his hand are swatted away. “Gotta be pretty for this one, right?”

They’re all set to go in front of the camera, Misha off getting some finishing touches in hair and makeup while they wait. The photography crew bustles around while the shoot director talks to a couple other workers, everything busy outside of the little bubble they’ve made for themselves.

“You’re always pretty.” Jensen rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, glances down as he straightens his jacket. They’ve been dressed to match, not that it’s a novelty these days. “Am I good?”

‘Good,’ Jared thinks as he gives his costar a once-over, is something of an understatement. Between the suit jacket, the freshly-styled hair, and everything Jensen’s got going on every single day of his life- well.

“I don’t know how long I can look at you without needing to do something about all those clothes you’ve got on.”

A surprised laugh, and Jared gives him a wink to top it off. “You’re good. Trust me.”

He slides in close to steal a couple more seconds; ducks his head until his nose brushes against Jensen’s cheek while their hands find each other. The gentle scratch of Jensen’s beard has him letting out a pleased hum. “Maybe Dean should grow a beard.”

“We’ll see.”

Jensen squeezes his hands once more before they part as Misha returns and they get right to business. As promised, Jared can’t keep his eyes off of Jensen- or his hands, for that matter- and he’s sure it’ll come through in the final product.

Oh, well. A couple heated glances never hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. One-Hundred Seventy-Five: Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knows she probably spends too long on these pictures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fem!Destiel, NSFW.

Dean knows she probably spends too long on these pictures. Cas has assured her more than once that she’s gorgeous no matter what she does, but- but with everything the woman does for her, it’s hard not to strive for perfection. So she plays with her facial expression, her pose, her lighting- takes dozens of photos and spends even longer flipping through them, throwing out the bad ones and picking a select few that are good enough to share.

_As cute as you hoped?_

It’s the green and white polkadots today, a matching bra and panty set that Cas had bought her last weekend. There’s a silky little bow on the front of each, and Dean makes sure her hair falls over her shoulders just so in the pictures she sends- she knows what Cas likes, and more than anything, she wants to keep her happy. 

The reply, just like always, is almost instantaneous. 

_Even cuter. You always go above and beyond, sweetheart._   
_How about trying one without your bra, now?_

It always goes like this, the slow progression. Dean’s pretty sure Cas gets a high out of it, and she does, too- bites her lip and carefully unhooks her bra. She’s in her bedroom, the full-length mirror standing across from her, and she drops the garment to the floor before posing again, one arm crossed over her chest.

_Like this?_

It’s kind of like playing a game, and she smiles when she receives her response.

_You don’t need to be shy. Show me those pretty tits._

She isn’t, really. Not anymore. Not for Cas. 

That doesn’t make it any less fun to play. 

The proper topless photo, complete with a shy smile and lower lip caught between her teeth, earns Dean a “ _Good girl,”_ and it has her shivering, one hand drifting down to press lightly against the front of her panties. She’s wet, and the video she gets as a reward- Cas touching herself, moaning softly, all because of Dean- only makes it worse.

_Get dressed. Get in that beautiful car your daddy bought you for your birthday. Come over. There are things I need to do to you that text can’t communicate._

Dean grins at her phone and immediately grabs her clothes. Mission accomplished.

She wouldn’t have made it this far with someone like Cas if she didn’t know how to get what she wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. One-Hundred Seventy-Six: Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing fits right in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary at the start of season twelve.

Nothing fits right in the future. Even thinking of it as what it is-  _the future-_ seems a little bit sideways. Mary is displaced and alone, living with strangers who were once her two little bundles of joy, both now hardened men. Veterans of never-ending war against everything she wanted to keep out of their lives, and there’s still that twinge of guilt every time she catches that haunted look in Sam’s eyes, when Dean flinches if she moves too fast.

Everything is different, and she’s almost alone.

Almost.

She still remembers the day John bought the damn car. They’d almost fought over it- fought about a lot of silly things back then, and God, what she’d give to have that back- but in the end, the Impala was too nice a car for her to really complain about. They’d had good times in it, anyways, and with every passing day, it became a source of more and more of her memories.

Today, almost forty years later, with John long gone and her babies virtual strangers, it’s the only thing that’s the same.

Dean tries to offer her any of several dozen rooms- the bunker he takes her to is enormous, feels vast and impersonal and has her missing their home- and in the end, she does end up taking one down the hallway from the pair of them, but she can’t sleep here. Can’t close her eyes without visions of burning alive all over again, scared and alone in this unfamiliar place and time.

It’s late and she’s tired and Mary lets her feet take her where they may. As it turns out, they take her straight to the garage. Dean’s left everything unlocked, thankfully, and she slips into the Impala’s back seat, closes the door gently. Curls in on herself and closes her eyes.

Even with the decades that have passed, she feels just the same sitting here as she did when she was running away with John to begin with. The seats are a little more worn, and the smell is a little less leather and a little more gunpowder, but it’s  _warm._ It’s warm in a way that surpasses physicality and she embraces it, slowly lays herself down and has no trouble getting comfortable.

She’s asleep in minutes and dreams about her husband.

(Dean’s scared when he finds her, eyes wide and panicked as he stutters something about losing her, and Mary makes a quiet note not to sneak out next time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. One-Hundred Seventy-Seven: Forget-Me-Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flowers are tiny and blue, five petals apiece with hints of pink and purple and white among the little bouquet. Sammy’s no good at pickin’ ‘em yet, so they’ve still got their roots attached, dirt from outside clinging to the ends and dropping onto the carpet. Not that it ain’t already dirty, but Dean’s eyes follow it down, anyway. Figures maybe he’ll clean it up before Dad gets home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really love these flowers.

The flowers are tiny and blue, five petals apiece with hints of pink and purple and white among the little bouquet. Sammy’s no good at pickin’ ‘em yet, so they’ve still got their roots attached, dirt from outside clinging to the ends and dropping onto the carpet. Not that it ain’t already dirty, but Dean’s eyes follow it down, anyway. Figures maybe he’ll clean it up before Dad gets home. 

“You gotta take ‘em to school tomorrow,” Sammy says, looking for all the world like he’ll argue this to his dying day if he has to. Got that stubborn furrow to his brow that reminds Dean a little of their mom. He shoves the whole fistful of them towards Dean, a little droopy after their abuse, but just as bright and pretty as they were outside. “You gotta.”

Dean frowns a little bit but takes the flowers, tries to be more careful with them than Sammy had been. Some of the stems are broken but the flowers seem to be intact, and he strokes one fingertip gently over the small petals. “Why?”

He looks back at his brother in time to see Sammy straighten up a little and puff out his chest, determination shining warm and hazel in his eyes. “They’re forget-me-nots,” he says, all matter-of-fact. “An’ it means that if you have ‘em, you can’t forget me!”

That’s easy enough to follow. A smile tugs at the corner of Dean’s lips as he smooths out the flowers in his hand, wonders if he can tuck them into a book to keep ‘em safe for the day. He knows it’s been hard for them both, being separated at school every day- kindergarten and grade three are all the way on opposite sides of the building- and he softens a little bit. “I’m not gonna forget you, Sammy. Never ever.”

Sammy looks at him real close, eyes squinted and hands on his hips like he thinks maybe Dean is lying, but- but then he gives in, goes all soft again and smiles big the way he’s supposed to. Dean’s gotta lift the flowers up and out of the way as his little brother hurries forward and throws his arms around Dean’s waist.

“You gotta keep ‘em,” Sammy mumbles into his chest while Dean wraps his free arm around his brother. “They’re special.”

“I will.” And maybe Dean’s just feeling extra affectionate right now, ‘cause it’s second-nature to drop a kiss into Sammy’s hair. “Gonna put it in my book, ‘kay?”

Sammy coos and nods and hugs him tighter. They both know how important Dean’s book is. “Thanks, De.”

“Thanks for the flowers.” Dean hugs Sammy tight and doesn’t let go for a few long seconds. “You wanna go see if we can find more?”

So Sammy nods and hurries off to grab his shoes, and Dean takes a moment to carefully tuck these flowers away- from the delicate petals to the exposed roots, just taking a moment to brush the dirt free- before moving to join him, crouching down to help the kid tie his shoes.

There are plenty of forget-me-nots outside the motel, but only a small, crumpled handful travel with them when they move again.

_(and again, and again, and again…)_

* * *

 

Sam’s all the way in California before he finds the little care package that Dean’s snuck into his luggage. No damn idea how his brother pulled it off- they’d barely spoken at all since the acceptance letter came to light, and after the fight with Dad, it wasn’t like he’d spent a whole lot of time packing- but Dean’s a sneaky son of a bitch, and Sam just shakes his head a little bit before he starts to check it out.

Silver, holy water. A little charm that he suspects is some kind of ward. All the hunting essentials and Sam isn’t surprised in the least, lets a tiny, bittersweet smile grow on his lips. Of course Dean’s first priority would be his safety. He’s always been a little predictable on that front.

There’s more past that, too. Extra socks. A wad of cash. A box of condoms that’s got Sam letting out a startled laugh. The biggest surprise is that Dean’s included a few books, too- Sam’s old favourites, most of them bearing stickers or stamps that label them as pilfered from various local libraries. Sam shakes his head as he sifts through them, admittedly touched by the thoughtfulness behind the inclusion.  _Harry Potter,_ a few of Vonnegut’s works,  _To Kill a Mockingbird_ ,  _Fahrenheit 451_ -

_Goodnight, Moon._

Sam stops breathing because it’s tucked away at the bottom of the pile, worn and battered and duct-taped at the spine. The colours on the cover have started to fade and a couple of the pages are torn at the edges, and it’s. It’s Dean’s book.

He feels like he’s in a trance, sits down heavily on the cheap chair he’s been provided with and opens the front cover with trembling fingers. 

_“Goodnight, moon._

_In the big green room, there’s a phone. And a red balloon…”_

Except that there are also some blue flowers and a folded piece of paper and Sam can’t quite see through the tears building in his eyes.

The flowers are dried; pressed and preserved between the pages of the book. They’re too fragile for Sam to touch and even as he picks up the paper- looks like it’s been torn out of a notebook- with the utmost gentleness, a tiny leaf pulls free and flutters free to rest on his thigh. It feels like someone twisted a knife deep in Sam’s chest, and he tries to focus on getting the paper unfolded and smoothed out.

The note is short. Nine words and one letter and he’s little five-year-old Sammy all over again, clinging to his big brother’s hand and begging him not to walk away.

Sammy doesn’t know how to be alone.

_–_

_I didn’t forget._

_Now it’s your turn, little brother._

_-D_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. One-Hundred Seventy-Eight: Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s a dancer- a real dancer, the kind you’d pay for a chance to see- and Sam… well, Sam’s not an inactive guy, but dancing has never been his forté.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samjess and soft.

Jessica’s hands always feel tiny in his, even now that she’s got a firm grip and seems intent on getting him positioned just the way she wants. Sam’s pliant under her direction; she’s the expert here, and he’s intent on being a good student.

She’s a dancer- a  _real_ dancer, the kind you’d pay for a chance to see- and Sam… well, Sam’s not an inactive guy, but dancing has never been his forté. Or perhaps it’d be more accurate to say he’d never much given it the time of day; he never gave it a second thought at all before the two of them met, and now it’s become so important to him that when Jess asked if he wanted to give it a shot, there was no way he could’ve refused. 

“Just follow my steps,” she encourages him once he’s in position and she’s got the music started. It’s something soft and distinctly familiar- the sort of thing Sam would be able to hum, but not name. “We’ll start easy, okay? Just one-two.”

Sam’s got his hand on her waist and their fingers tangle together on the other side, and she starts moving. A snail’s pace to what she usually does, he knows- he’s seen her all but fly across a stage, leap and twirl and move in ways he can’t imagine achieving on his own- but it works for him, and she’s got a little smile on her face that says she’s content with it, too. An easy back-and-forth and Sam focuses on not stepping on her toes, even though they’re both barefooted on the cool tiles of their tiny kitchen.

Jess hums along to the music, her eyes distant and warm and focused somewhere on Sam’s chest, but Sam’s attention is all on her face. The way the lines smooth out when she’s like this, moving to music- the way she looks younger and more mature all at the same time, entirely in her element in a way he rarely sees up close. She’s beautiful, and she’s pure, and she’s all his, in some crazy twist of fate.

“Good,” she murmurs, sounds half-lost in the melody that’s still playing as they sway together. “You’re doing great, Sam, just like that.”

And suddenly he really,  _really_ needs to kiss her, so he skips forward a few lessons and sweeps her right off her feet, brings her down into a low dip- easy enough to keep hold of her body, one arm tight around her middle- before brushing their lips together, light and playful.

“Do I get bonus marks for showing off?” he murmurs, and she laughs like windchimes, clinging to him as he returns her to her feet. She’s light and carefree and perfect, and he doesn’t let go.

“I think we’ve got a teacher’s pet.” Her arms loop around his neck and she’s still smiling, bigger than before. “I suppose you can have a little extra credit.”

So Sam ducks down for another kiss and decides that he won’t drop these little lessons anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. One-Hundred Seventy-Nine: Milkshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More and more often, Mary catches herself daydreaming about escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary feelings. ;-;

More and more often, Mary catches herself daydreaming about escape. It’s no longer just a distant fantasy, either; she knows John must be planning to propose soon, the way he’s been sneaking around, and she’s giddy just with the thought of it. With the idea of running away, breaking free from the lifestyle she’s been raised into and building a new one for herself.

He’s supposed to be meeting her soon, John. They’re starting to form little habits, meeting up at the diner every Friday evening. It’s an anchor to  _normal_ and there’s nothing she’d give it up for, even if that means lying to her parents about her whereabouts every now and again. John always makes it worth it, and the last thing she wants to do is damage their relationship.

Mary’s already ordered their shakes- strawberry for her, chocolate for him, just like always- and she’s smiling to herself, content to stir the straw in idle swirls through the foam. Drifting again because it’s all too good to be true, and she’s not planning to take a look in the horse’s mouth anytime soon.

Her happiness is within her grasp. Her parents will understand, eventually, and she and John will settle together and have a couple kids and be happy. No monsters, no hunting. No fear. Just safety. Normal.

A few more weeks, maybe. A matter of time until John pops the question and she’ll be free.

She’ll be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. One-Hundred Eighty: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornings are easy, and mornings are lazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J2 silliness.

Mornings are easy, and mornings are lazy. Mornings are the smell of fresh coffee being brewed and the pad of bare feet on hardwood and marble, the low him of some song stuck in someone’s head. They’re soft and they’re warm, a fitting counterpart to the early sunshine they invite between tilted blinds or through windows open to the sound of birds singing while the world starts to move.

For Jared, mornings are waking up slow, stretching out each of his limbs until his bones crack and his muscles loosen, fingertips brushing the warm place in bed that Jensen’s already vacated. They’re sliding out of bed and throwing on some sweats before following his boyfriend to the kitchen, yawning and blinking his eyes half-open so he doesn’t trip over his own discarded socks (again).

Jensen will be in the kitchen and Jared will waste no time in seeking him out and draping himself over his boyfriend’s back and nuzzling in close. Jensen always laughs and elbows him and teases him- “you sure you’re being clingy enough, Jare?”- but never actually pushes him off. Jared is happy to snuggle close and hold on tight.

It’s where he’s happiest- not so much hanging off of Jensen as being near him, warm and comfortable and safe at home. Mornings are fuzzy at the edges like this, where the rest of the world sort of blues out of focus and they’re left with just each other. Hot drinks and ankles hooked under the table, nowhere to be and nothing to do but take it easy.

Mornings are rare, but mornings are exactly the way Jared wants them to be. Sometimes, they’ll just crawl right back into bed when they’re ready, and Jared thinks those are probably the best mornings of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. One-Hundred Eighty-One: Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Dean’s life, ignorance can truly be bliss. It’s easy to turn a blind eye (ha, ha) to the movement of someone’s lips or the lingering glances he gets when he wears his aids. He’ll pretend he doesn’t see the people who stare or the people who talk about him, and it’s only natural that he doesn’t hear a word they say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little thing with deaf!Dean.

In Dean’s life, ignorance can truly be bliss. It’s easy to turn a blind eye (ha, ha) to the movement of someone’s lips or the lingering glances he gets when he wears his aids. He’ll pretend he doesn’t see the people who stare or the people who talk about him, and it’s only natural that he doesn’t hear a word they say.

He’d been born deaf, something wrong with his inner ears from the moment he popped out of the womb. He never knew the sound of his mother’s voice, didn’t wake up to the sound of his home burning to the ground. He can’t hear his baby brother cry, so he’d adapted, just like with everything else- it’s easy to tell that Sammy needs something as long as Dean’s got him in his arms, in his sight. He cradles his baby brother close at every opportunity, and they both get used to the proximity.

Sammy gets older and they move to holding hands, linking their pinky fingers together. Eventually they’re just  _close_ \- Dean’s never without Sam, and Sam’s never without Dean. They’d tumbled into learning ASL together along the way, and Dean always pretends like it’s a secret language, just for them- not that they encounter many others who are fluent, anyways. They might as well be. It’s nice to have the intimacy, because it’s too easy for Dean to get lost or overwhelmed with the rest of the world pressing in on him, but Sam’s always there to stay close and lean on.

Sometimes, they don’t even need the ASL. Sam’s older now, bigger than Dean is, even if he’s built like a string bean, and he’s gotten himself into the habit of physically guiding Dean from place to place. They’ll meet up when he’s finished school and Sam’ll smile and he’ll sign  _hello_ but mostly he’ll wrap his fingers around one of Dean’s wrist and bring him in close until Dean’s tucked up against his side. Dean teases him sometimes, reminds his brother that he’s not blind, but Sam’ll just squeeze him a little and keep leading the way.

It’s nice. Dean feels lost in the world, sometimes, everything out of eyeshot a mystery, but Sam- Sam takes that feeling away. He bundles Dean up and keeps him safe, pulls the tension and anxiety straight out of his chest and replaces them with something warmer and softer. Something good.

Dean isn’t sure where he’d be without his little brother, but he doesn’t intend to find out anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. One-Hundred Eighty-Two: The Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom still thinks about the mine, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Tom/Clay thing. Just because.

Tom still thinks about the mine, sometimes. The way every stage of his life has been tangled up in its endless maze of tunnels- a childhood of learning its ins and outs, slowly learning to resent it through adolescence as his relationship with his father grew more strained. Dreams of escaping, leaving Harmony behind him to pursue a life away from the mine and its roots right up until it ruined his life.

Those tend to be the foggier moments. He can’t think too hard about those memories- the collapse, the party, returning to town- without giving himself a headache. Those are the headaches he prefers to avoid.

Mostly, though, he doesn’t. Can’t much bear the thought of going underground at all, anymore, and even made sure to get a place without a basement. The nice thing about the city is that they tend to build  _up_ instead of  _down_ , and he’s decided that’s how he prefers things.

His apartment is nice enough. Small. Private. About as far from that tiny mining town as he can get, and- well, that’s what matters, at the end of the day. He’s worked damn hard to cut those ties after everything that’s happened and does his best to keep it all in a box.

The fresh air is his favourite part. Harmony always had a smell about it- the mining equipment wasn’t exactly good for the quality of the air around town, and there are still mornings he’ll wake up expecting to breathe it in all over again, to wake up in his own nightmare where that damn mask comes down over his face again, his fingers curl around the handle of the pickaxe-

That’s usually when Clay wakes him up, though. Clay is good like that.

Lots of things about his new life are good. Tom does his best to forget about all the rest of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
